a constellation of tears on your lashes
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: When the fire started, Arthur knew immediately who was responsible. (Loosely based on V for Vendetta.)


When the alarms went off, loud, ringing, and panicked, Arthur barely blinked. He knew that it would be coming, that it had always been coming. He hadn't known it would be on November twenty-ninth, or that it would be at just past eleven in the morning, but he knew that the day's arrival was inevitable.

There was no escaping it.

A fearful female voice blared over the intercom. "_Attention all staff members, please exit the building immediately. This is not a drill. I repeat; this is not a drill."_

Arthur could hear the worried scrapes and shuffles outside of his office door. He waited for approximately three seconds, sighed, and left the comfort of the small room in which he did his work. Exiting into the hallway, he was greeted with the frantic rush of employees all hurrying in one direction, frightened and unsure of what was happening, just trying to get away as quickly as they could.

Arthur wondered what he could tell the people to reassure them their fears were in vain, that the person behind the flames erupting from the top of the building didn't truly mean to kill them, or even hurt them, that he only wanted to send a message to the population of England.

They wouldn't believe it.

Arthur wasn't even sure whether he believed it.

But as the throng of people moved left, Arthur immediately turned to the right.

Some of the others gave him odd looks as he strode past them, but no one stopped him, either out of fear for their own safety or because they figured that Arthur knew what he was doing. That was dead wrong, of course. Arthur had no idea what he was doing, where he was going, or why this seemed so necessary.

"Arthur!"

Arthur's heart quickened as he felt an iron grip on his arm. He relaxed slightly at the sight of the bushy ginger beard that could only belong to Leon. His friend had his arm locked tight against Arthur's, though, which caused a new bundle of nerves to erupt. Leon couldn't know what Arthur was planning on doing, could he?

No, he couldn't, Arthur decided at the half-worried, half-curious look on Leon's face as the two came to a standstill in the hall, the rest of the staff meandering around them on their way to the staircase that would lead them downstairs and to safety. Leon had obviously been one of them until he had caught sight of Arthur.

"Where are you going?" Leon asked, concerned. Arthur averted his gaze so that he wasn't looking directly into his earnest eyes. He didn't particularly like having to lie to who he considered his closest confidant, but it wasn't as if he had much of a choice in this circumstance.

"I have to get something," Arthur shook off Leon's hand as he hurried away, determinedly not looking back at what he was sure would be Leon's worrying stare. He hoped that he wouldn't be followed, for that would eventually require an explanation that Arthur wanted to avoid at all costs.

So why the hell was he even giving himself the chance?

He decided not to answer himself as he pushed through the people. As one of the building's top executives and the son of the current prime minister, his office was on the top floor. Which, when heading to the rooftop, was very convenient.

The fire had started on the roof; it was only natural that _he _would be up there.

The door to the roof would, of course, have to be blockaded.

Arthur sighed in frustration as he glared at the invisible wall his eyes could barely make out. It appeared to be just a simple, glowing white line in the air, but Arthur knew better. Unless the person who set it up willed him to go through, he'd never be able to pass.

Apparently, the officials had already found this out, for the only person standing next to the door leading up to the highest point in the building was a young, gangly security guard that was currently speaking to him in an agitated tone.

"Sir, you need to get away from here and down to the ground! The authorities are there and will try to sort this mess out."

Arthur sized the young man up. He couldn't be more than twenty-five, and had to weigh next to nothing compared to him. He could take him out of the picture if need be.

Wait, that wasn't an option. Was it? Arthur didn't know; his life hadn't made sense in weeks. Not since…well. Not since _him._

Deciding he would play the rich and pretentious card, Arthur drew himself up to full height so that he towered above the younger man, who was on the shorter size. Glaring fiercely at him, Arthur spoke commandingly. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The man shook his head mutely, eyes widening. Arthur could definitely use this to his advantage. "I'm Arthur Pendragon. And I was ordered by my father himself to come here. You're relieved of your duty. Get down to the ground like everyone else and let me do my job."

Never mind that his job was just a position in a famous news corporation. All Arthur had to do was drop his father's name and folks would run for the hills, no matter what else came out of his mouth. An advantage of having a tyrannous dictator for a father, he supposed. One of the very few.

The security guard was just as easily swayed as the rest of England's population, for after a quickly squeaked "Sorry!" he departed down the hallway, looking down furtively. As he disappeared down the corridor, he brought the last of the stragglers heading for the elevators with him. Arthur was entirely alone now.

He stared at the white line, willing it to vanish. He'd been thrown back by a barrier before; he knew that trying to get through would be a painful experience, quite literally blowing him off his feet.

Arthur put his hand out just in front of the barely visible block. He could almost feel a thrumming force, a residue of some kind of archaic magic just waiting for the right moment to blow a body away. He had to try, though, didn't he? On the off chance that there was even the slightest possibility of getting through, that _he _would let Arthur up…

Without waiting to consider it any longer, Arthur plunged his hand through, expecting the inevitable blow.

It didn't come.

Arthur tried not to gape in shock down at his hand on the other side of the barrier, cut off just above his wrist, dividing himself in two. Hoping beyond hope that this wasn't just a fluke, he closed his eyes, cautiously stepped forward, through the line and to whatever waited for him on the other side.

He cracked open an eye as his foot thudded against the ground, its counterpart following it a moment later. He had made it through. Turning around slowly, he saw the shimmering bubble separating him from the rest of the world; separating the rooftop from the rest of the world.

Letting out a shaky breath, Arthur was all too aware that the worst was yet to come.

Still, he had gotten through the magical blockade. That meant that someone wished for his presence.

Well. He had no doubts over who that someone was.

Wrenching open the doorway, Arthur took the short staircase two steps at a time, leaping over every other height of concrete. Another door greeted him at the top, this one without magical protection. Leave it to _him _not to have a back-up plan in case things went awry.

Arthur yanked the handle and pulled hard. Instantaneously, heat began to pour onto Arthur's skin and smoke filled his nostrils. Coughing at the sudden constriction of his lungs, he stepped out onto the rooftop.

His surroundings were lit up red and orange, flames dancing off of every orifice. Although they gave off smoke – heavy smoke that made Arthur's eyes burn –it was easy to see that they weren't spreading. The fire was staying on one place, marking it as magical.

There were only so many of the illegal sorcerers talented enough to conjure up such a spell. And this piece of work had a particular trademark to it, one that the authorities would recognize immediately.

Emrys. The old, wizened man who had taken England by storm just over two weeks ago, breaking into Arthur's very own news station and broadcasting himself to the entire country, pleading with them to take a stand with him against their oppressive government, to bring the men that ruled over them with an iron fist to his knees, to legalize magic once and for all, to bring the sorcerers out of hiding and into the open.

Emrys.

But that wasn't the name Arthur knew him as. It wasn't the name, the face, or the attitude. It was the spark, though, that drew them together in his head. The spark; the idea, the passion, and the belief.

And there he was. Leaning against a metal bar that jutted out of the building, he was just opposite Arthur, looking as if he had been waiting for this precise moment.

Arthur swallowed hard at the sight of him; he hadn't seen that face in weeks. The angular features, sharp cheekbones, overlarge ears, sparkling blue eyes, and full lips almost always adorned with a playful smirk. Arthur felt all of the air leave his body as he looked Merlin up and down. He hadn't changed a bit.

"Merlin, what the hell are you doing?"

Arthur's voice wasn't loud, but neither was the fire. Merlin strode toward him, gait slower and less clumsy than usual.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Arthur? I'm dissembling the government."

Arthur couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry at the sarcastic, slightly teasing comment. It was rude, crude, and so inherently _Merlin_ that it really could go either way. He chose to let out a half-choked chuckle.

"Really? Killing all of these people – innocent people – is going to take down the government?"

Merlin's eyes averted from his. They were standing only feet apart now; Merlin hadn't come any closer. This could be a good or a bad thing, Arthur had no idea. "You know I'm not going to kill them, Arthur. The fire won't spread until I know that everyone is out of the building."

Arthur let out a humorless laugh. "And that makes it so much better."

"Yes, it does," Merlin's eyes flashed with rage. "I don't want to hurt innocents, Arthur. That has _never _been my intention."

"No, your intention was to lie to me," Arthur wanted to stop talking, but he couldn't. The volume of his tone only got louder, fuller, and angrier as he continued. "To use me. I trusted you, Merlin, I –"

_Loved you. _The words stuck in the back of Arthur's throat. He had only said that out loud once, and it had destroyed everything. If he had never said those words, Merlin would have never told him his deep, dark secret. Everything could have stayed the same.

No, it couldn't have. Because the secret would have always been there; watching, waiting for an opportunity to arrive so it could rear its ugly head and bite.

"Hurting you was never my intention, either," Merlin's voice was quieter as he took a step forward. Arthur flinched away involuntarily, causing him to pull back once more. "I – I'm sorry, Arthur. Sorry about what I have to do. But I can't keep leaving like this. If I can, I have to make a difference. I have to save my people."

"Why now?" Arthur found himself saying.

"It was my window of opportunity," Merlin chuckled quietly. "No time like the present, Arthur. I know he's your father. I know you'll always be on his side, come hell or high water."

"I never said that," Arthur could feel the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

"Doesn't mean that it's not true," Merlin's eyes met his once more, and they appeared as watery as Arthur's felt. "I don't expect anything from you, Arthur. Just…please don't try to stop me. Don't turn me in."

"If I wanted to turn you in, I would have done it weeks ago," Arthur said. "I didn't."

"I noticed," Merlin responded. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Why did you let me up here?" Arthur asked. "Why was I able to get through the barrier?"

Merlin moved a fraction of an inch closer to him. "I hoped to see you one last time," he admitted. "To tell you how sorry I am that our story had to end like this."

"_End_?" The word caught in Arthur's throat.

"There's no rest for the wicked, Arthur," Merlin was next to him now. The heat from his body affected Arthur much more than the heat of the fire. He felt a hand slide into his own and he gripped it tightly, never wanting to let go of the rough skin that was holding him just as firmly, grounding him to the reality of the situation. "The crossfire will be deadly. You shouldn't be there when the time comes."

"But you will be," Arthur said softly and Merlin squeezed his hand in an almost gentle way.

"Yeah," he said. "Most likely, I won't make it out alive. But you will. And someday, Arthur, this world will be yours for the taking. You could lead a million times better that your father ever could."

"Merlin…" Arthur was at a loss for words. Merlin had told him this much before, previous to Arthur's knowledge of his magic. He had laughed him off then. But this Merlin, this Merlin truly meant those words. And he knew it. "You don't have to sacrifice yourself for a world that you won't be a part of."

"Yes, I do," Merlin's sigh was heavy. "Because _you_ will be a part of it. And you will make it grand."

Arthur leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Merlin's as he exhaled deeply, Merlin mirroring him. His lips moved forward for a brief second, only long enough for a chaste kiss, one last feeling of wholeness as he screwed his eyes shut, willing this moment to last forever.

It didn't.

When Arthur reopened his eyes, he knew he wasn't on the rooftop anymore. The heat had disappeared, the smoke no longer filled his lungs, and the feeling of warm skin against his hand had vanished. He could hear people around him, some yelling, some screaming, and some talking normally.

He knew what he would see when he opened his eyes. Looking up into the sky from the ground, he saw the fire begin to overtake the building overhead. His fellow workers, his employees, all bustled around him as the police force attempted to keep everyone calm.

Merlin wasn't on the roof any more than he was, Arthur was certain. When he had somehow transported Arthur down to the ground, he had left. Off to fight, off to save the world. To burn down another building, to give hope to the hopeless, and most importantly, to give the world a piece of his mind.

Arthur was certain that no one was ready for what would come next.

Not even him.


End file.
